


Jon. Not Jon

by Tea_is_Not_Them



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Brutal Crowbar Murder, Canon-Typical Clown Bondage, Canon-Typical Elias, Canon-typical Miscommunication, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, In a way, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist With a Cane, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Murder, Pining, Pre-Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Self-Hatred, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) Lives, Trauma, identity theft, not!jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_is_Not_Them/pseuds/Tea_is_Not_Them
Summary: While kidnapped Nikola decides how fun it would be if they replaced Jon. Funny thing is, only one person noticed.AKA: Jon is Not Ok
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 36
Kudos: 451





	1. Not!

**Author's Note:**

> The social medias babes
> 
> Instagram: tea_is_not_them  
> tiktok: teaisnotthem  
> Tumblr: tea-is-not-them

Nikola stood before the Archivist, her mannequin face stretching plastic to grin like the devil would in every caricature of the religious figure. Jon wondered vaguely if he would be able to leave, or maybe, when his imminent death would arrive. Would he be the end of the world? A tool in the end of it all, nothing but a tool for others to use. Or would he die, and his skin be used for nothing when his friends-- well, not friends, they would have to like him for that-- would stop it, when he was too weak to do so himself. 

Nikola grinned, and behind her was the picture image of himself, not a mirror, but a flesh and bone creature; though the flesh and bone bit may be giving the thing too much credit. The same long haggard salt and pepper hair, put up into a bun as if it had anything to worry about, stragglers reaching like coarse tendrils. His green eyes had dimmed so much they might have looked hazel, the same hazel that he had taken the archivist job with. Pocket mark worm scars and the slit across his throat. The unfortunate burnt hand. It was his exact image, just, human-adjacent. It looked human.

It felt like a punch in the face to say that this horrible double, this doppelganger, a puppet of the Stranger, looked so much more like a trustworthy person than he ever would look again. 

He might have been laughing. He might have been crying. Maybe it was a gruesome mix of both twisting hysterical emotions showing through his jilted eyebrows, tear stained cheeks that stretched wide with horrified and tired madness. Either way a terrible noise tore from his throat and tears stung at his eyes like acid.

Nikola watched, waiting for the moment that his breakdown quieted, not finished, because she would be sure to wring out the worst of his emotions while letting this toy exist. She was always the type to play with her food, the one who would magnify ants or play the clown, I mean look at what she was now. 

“Jon! Meet Jon! It’s you! At least, its the you that the other people want. We don’t want Elias or your crew coming to find you for the next few months! So I’ll be sending You into the archives and You will be a perfect little Archivist, staying calm and being better than you could ever be! Don’t worry little Archivist, I’ll make sure you can Watch as they all like the new 'you' better!”

The clown’s plastic face twisted in wretched sadistic joy, as Jonathan Sims watched himself exit the room, and he Knew that the stranger’s puppet was on his way to the archives, slowly letting all of its manic and unrealistic energy out to look tired and scared, worn out from a kidnapping. Its little show would not go under scrutiny, and that was the worst part. 

Jon wondered in a morbid and horrible second, if they would like this Jon more than they liked him.

\------------

After a month of being missing you would think that Jon would have been more missed. It was a sad realization that none of them had really worried other than Martin. To be fair Elias hadn't said he was kidnapped! Martin always worried. But something was weird about Jon when he came back.

He was different. When he first busted into the archives he looked scared, human, meek. At first, Martin hadn’t thought anything amiss with his boss, which was only his boss in name, as Jon had no actual authority in reality. He chalked up the quietness to being traumatized after being held captive. He took the slight change in Jon’s humor as just something that happened when he was looking away, because Martin wasn't the closest to Jon, as much as he wished he was. Nothing was different about him holing up in his office, not doing anything different. He knows Elias is livid about something, he noticed that after a week. The double boss always seeming to glare at Jon, or grumble something in annoyance. A burst of hot anger always went through Martin, because it wasn't Jon's fault he had been missing, no need to be pissy about it.

“Hello Jon. Are you doing alright?” Martin held the mug of tea that he had made for Jon, his favorite earl grey with a single sugar and a splash of milk, the warmth contrasting with how cold Jon keeps it in the tiny office. How weird though, the office felt normal, kept a higher temperature, and Jon's coat was hanging off the back of the chair instead of loosely hung on him . 

“Hi Martin.” he looked like he was reading the statements in front of him. But the longer Martin looked, the more it seemed like his eyes were just skimming the page, not really taking anything in. No matter how fast he knew that Jon could read, his eyes were just, moving, like it was more for show. 

He didn’t know how to bring that up in conversation, would it be rude to accuse Jon of not actually reading? Probably best to not mess with it, but he came to the idea that Jon just wanted to be left alone. He was probably still reeling. Martin would be to, especially since almost no one looked for him…

He placed the tea down, and Jon looked up and nodded at him. His eyes were dimmer than Martin remembered. The unusual green now, slightly more hazel. Still beautiful but... wrong somehow. 

After a second, he realized he was staring and then he smiled embarrassingly, and turned to leave. For some reason he didn’t feel watched…

\--------

Martin asked Basira if she noticed anything different about Jon. His curiosity grew, as did his concern, like weed in the midst of concrete, something in his mind pushed. For the first few weeks he realized that he chalked it up to being jarred from such a traumatic experience. But now it seemed like it’s been a while, and there was no sign of the Circus finding them or making a move to hurt Jon or the institute. Why go through the trouble of keeping him alive and kidnapping him if it wasn't even going to come looking again? He wasn't complaining about the lack of clowns, but it just made no sense! 

“Yeah. He’s actually been different. Normal actually.” Basira hummed, thumbing through false statements, all false, “Distant. He hasn’t used his weird Eye powers since the incident.”

Oh. Martin hadn’t noticed that, mostly because he hadn’t really been at the receiving end of those powers often enough to know that. Couple that with the absence of the feeling of watching spelled out something that Martin couldn't parse, just a vague unease settling in the pit of his stomach. 

“I think it’s nice actually. He hasn’t been breathing down our necks paranoid lately.” 

Martin blinked a few times, “Yeah… He hasn’t. That’s really out of character for him.”

Basira flicked her head-wrap a little out of her face, “I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Martin didn’t know what to say to that. This didn’t feel like the Jon they all knew, and although Basira seemed to be fine with that, it unsettled Martin. Even if they didn't like Jon, isn't it better to have the scary creature you know? Maybe he should talk to Tim, if he sees anything different he will be loud about it. 

\---------

“Yeah, he hasn’t been giving us work for the past few weeks. Just fake ones actually. It’s a bit irritating, because I am still looking for the statements on the Circus.” Tim flicked through, false, statements. His irritation showed in his tense posture, eyes flickering to the office as if any second he would go blow up on the person that sits at the desk in there.

The Unknowing. That was supposed to happen soon, and they needed something from the archives for that ritual didn't they?

It seemed too coincidental. Too... Perfect. The right time at the right place. Puzzle pieces clicked together slowly in Martin's head. Something was wrong, he knew it from the beginning but now he really thought about it. 

Tim grumbled about something, slamming his mouse down as another taxidermy website crashed as he was looking through it. He looked very much like he wanted to smash the whole computer. Martin wondered if he would.

“Listen Marto, if you want to talk about your crush to someone, please do it with someone else. I don’t want to talk about Jon.” The irritation showed through his voice and Martin left the mug of tea on his desk, still warm. It was clear that he was not wanted at the moment. He bustled away, still struggling to understand.

There was something wrong with the picture here, and Martin felt increasingly worried. 

\--------

Melanie was very much loud about it, “He is definitely less freaky now. And he’s stayed away from me, and everyone actually. Human and sad holed up in his little office of horrors. It’s been great!”

Martin hummed if only to keep her irritation from turning to him and left the mug of tea next to her. He worried about her, and her rising anger. He was lucky it wasn't turned on him, no matter how many times he wanted to snap at everyone. 

\------

He walked back into Jon’s office, and saw that he hadn’t drank his tea. He hadn’t realized how used to it he was, when others drank the tea he made them. He would always come and get the empty mug unless the others had already put them in the break room sink, or cleaned them and placed them back in the cupboard. Jon had always drank his tea, even when he had made his dislike for Martin known, the first few years of them in the archives. Well with the exception of his paranoid spiel a few years back, but this didn't fit that bill. 

Jon looked up, and he smiled. Martin felt a little sick at that, a rush of blood in his ears. Something about the smile was just a tad too wide for Jon. Jon never actually gave true smiles. He gave quirks of his lips, and his eyes usually conveyed most of his emotion. But no. Jon was smiling at him, a tad too wide for Jon. It looked almost like a normal person’s smile, but a tad too wide for that either. 

But that was not how Jon smiled. Martin knew this as he knew the sky was blue. The puzzle pieces finally made sense.

He took the mug of tea still full of cold liquid, untouched, away from the desk, and smiled back, even though his mind was racing with the complete knowledge that hit him. The worst realization he might have had in his life if he hadn't been through so much. This was definitely a top five though, of those moments that had curdled his blood, and made him feel frozen from the inside out. 

As he washed the mug of cold tea down the sink, he knew that that was not Jon. 

\-------

After that day he hadn’t brought any tea, and he felt his gaze wander to the door more often. He wondered what had taken Jon’s place. It wasn’t the Not!Them, it had already gone off and it was still acting as Sasha James. He knew that. He had the old recordings of Jon’s voice and a single Polaroid of the man. That was Jon. That was Jon. Or at least. That was Jon’s face. That was Jon's voice box.

Same scars in the same places, same hair stuffed into submission into a bun with a pen, same dark skin tone, down to each discoloration. Everything was the same but that was not Jonathan Sims. It wasn't him because the things that made Jon even at base acquaintance level, were not there. It was wrong. The word played over in his head so many times he was starting to see it as something other than a word. 

The thing wearing Jon’s skin walked out of the office, with a wrong smile on his stolen face, going to the office break room for coffee. 

Martin avoided looking at him, averting his gaze. He wouldn’t talk to him either, which wasn’t much of a feat, seeing as Jon, stolen body or not, would not want to talk to anyone. But the oppressive paranoia that he had usually emitted, was gone. That should have been the thing to truly tip him off, Jon was paranoid to an art. It was like he had taken the suspicious madness and made it his bitch. 

But no, he kept his eyes on the statement of the Buried. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and saw Tim giving him a funny look.

“Wow. You finally over your crush on our ‘boss’?” He sounded much like he was joking but there was something else in his tone, and Martin felt the need to smack him. He was blushing. He didn’t know how to word what he was feeling about their ‘boss.’ 

How do you say that you do still have a crush on your boss, but something has stolen his body-- or whatever the thing that looked exactly like Jonathan Sims had done-- and that they were so different that he felt almost like a dissonance in his mind. What to say when the person you pined over for years like a schoolgirl, has been replaced. 

It’s a little funny, because the same thing happened to Tim. 

Instead he laughed, stilted and awkward and shrugged, “Maybe? I dunno.”

Tim hummed, instead of making a joke like he would have done before, everything, he took a file from a drawer that Martin could not remember opening in his desk. The black haired man extracted a single manila folder, and slid off where he had taken a seat on the edge of Martin’s desk.

“A Stranger file. Martin have you been holding out?” There was a tone of suspicion under the teasing job, but Martin shook his head. He didn’t remember having that folder there. For one horrible morbid second, he wandered if that really was Jon's skin. That they killed him, took another person from the archives to play pretend with.

\------

It had been two and a half months being kidnapped and bound in the Circus, one month of Nikola making uncomfortable statements to whoever was at the other end of the tapes, which she had taken the initiative of saying Elias’s name. The first month was just hearing her plans and the loud singing and dancing of the stranger’s avatars and puppets. The first month had been the easiest. 

The second month and a half , he knew no one would come for him. He wondered if anyone noticed it wasn’t him. If they did, did they care? Had they killed the double? Did they think he was dead. He might as well be, actually. 

The second half also had some very uncomfortable points where the mannequins moisturized him, which was the single most unpleasant thing that he had ever experienced, and that was even more uncomfortable than the worms that crawled into his skin. 

It was very hard to beat flesh eating worms on a scale of horrible experiences, but somehow this was the icing on the cake. He thinks he will forever resent the smell of vanilla and ocean breeze and the feeling of cold plastic hands on him. 

His wrists felt dead and limp, from the weird nylon keeping him tied tightly. His ankles were probably going to be permanently asleep. The static feeling that had a month of buildup was staying strong since he couldn’t even shake out the blood flow. He honestly wanted this to be it. Death would probably be better than feeling greasy and unwanted and like his extremities were going to fall off from blood flow issues. He was already anemic and this was just making his head hurt and his fingers go cold. 

Jon worried. There wasn’t much he could do but feel sorry for himself and worry, both of which were unproductive but the only thing his mind could focus on. He worried for Martin. He worried for Tim, even though he was sure that Tim cared close to zero about him anymore, he didn’t hold that against him. He had gone off the rails a little for a year, well, more than a year. He worried about Basira. He worried about Melanie. He worried about Georgie, if he lived he would have to talk to her about this. 

A small part of him was a bit happy that something else was at the end of the archive’s employee’s ire. At least they weren’t yelling at him, though being trapped in a circus with nothing to eat or drink other than something… he didn’t want to think about and water, it probably wasn't much of a better experience. At least here he knew what to expect, at least here he wasn't a monster, he was a victim. There was no choice here, which scared him and comforted him in equal horrible measure.

Nikola’s voice started to be just regular background noise as she yelled and tapped in shoes that clacked too loud against the concrete and wood of the circus floor. There were always upbeat and slightly dissonance melodies playing somewhere right outside of the walls around him. It was strange. 

He wriggled a little, as Nikola had just placed lotion on his face. It was deeply unsettling. To see a moving plastic mannequin face so close to his was not fun, and to have plastic hands touching all over him was also traumatizing. He wondered if institute expense would pay for therapy.

He moved his wrists and slowly realized with building budding euphoria that he could get his hands out of the restraints, even as his fingers were cold at the edge. He could usually barely move without causing a burning rubbing, but he could slip his hands out. He barely moved as he undid his leg restraints, slightly palming feeling back into his feet, the joy slowly remaking itself into adrenaline that flowed freer than blood from a wound. Jon stood and stumbled, but he knew how to get out, and he was ready.

\---------

It had been two weeks since Martin came to the realization of the thing impersonating Jon. Nothing had changed in the archives, the assistants still yelling at Jon, but less so now that he had stayed out of the way. Holing up in the Head Archivists office like it belonged there, the outside the intruder it was. Just like that thing that sat at Sasha's desk for so long.

As Martin knew the more he noticed, he found it unbelievable that anyone had not come to the same conclusions as him. He even asked Tim if he thought that Jon was Jon. That earned him a week of silent treatment after a long one way yelling match and he never brought it up again. 

There was yelling from the break room, Martin hauled himself into the room as fast as he could, his chair ending up on the floor in his worried rush. He had hoped it wasn't Melanie and Tim getting into another row, they could both be vicious. There in the middle of the shitty break room was Jon. The fake Jon, but the real one too. 

The real Jon’s hair was ragged, sticking out in odd places and halfway out of his regular bun, his glasses askew and slightly cracked in the lenses covering green eyes. He also looked like hell rolled into a tiny twig of a man, shaking like a wind could blow him over. 

But he also looked a mess because he was slamming a crowbar down onto the fake Jonathan Sims body. Honestly it was scary to see how much damage such an uncooked noodle of a man could do. His face was contorted in rage and something else, it looked like morbid catharsis, or maybe wild madness, a spiral in his eyes that could probably talk more about his mental state than the murder did. 

He could hear the cracking of plastic and bones, as the crowbar came down onto the things rib cage, making noises that he thinks could come from that one American holiday and the firecrackers that they set off. 

It was screaming, Jon’s voice was screaming coming from the crushed plastic Jon. It’s chest caved and legs broken. Black oily blood sprayed the floor and the sick looking Jon. The real Jon. Martin could have cried. He hadn't even realized that everyone working in the archives was in the doorway watching as Jon gored his double like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Jon, the real flesh and blood archivist one, let out a final war cry as he finally brought the metal down upon the things head, caving in the mannequin head. 

When he straightened he was breathing heavily, as if he had run miles before destroying what had taken his place for a month or more. His dirty clothes now covered in Stranger blood, hands tightened on the crowbar, looking halfway between a mental breakdown and hysterical laughing. 

He looked up and saw his audience, his face went from almost sickly triumphant to scared kid. His eyebrows scrunched as he dropped the weapon, and slowly dropped to his knees, still looking at the group of shocked voyeurs. His face twisted in emotional agony as he let the stream of scared, relieved, mortified, sad tears. His hands went to wipe his face as he cried but the Stranger’s black blood smeared and he gave up to hug himself. He looked... like someone who went through too much for any person to endure.

Martin was frozen, his heart tied up in twisting tearing knots. The air was still staticky and fearful. Everyone was in shock. Martin was too, but he also knew that Jon needed him. He needed someone, and the only person willing to be there was Martin.

So he went and got on his knees next to Jon, slowly placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder. He realized in the back of his mind that his hand could almost cover the entirety of the skinny man’s shoulder. Jon looked up at him, red eyes still glassy with a whirlwind of feelings, and he crashed into the sweater. 

He shook as he clutched at the sweater. Martin didn’t know what to do. Jon wasn’t the type to cry. He may have had mental breakdowns but he never had people around for them. It must have been bad, when yells at the source of his probelms and get angry and paranoid, cried instead of screamed. 

“It’s alright Jon. I’m here.”


	2. Jon. Just Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is a long journey, even for an eldritch man
> 
> AKA: Relearning and Jon Not Getting a Damn Break

How do you cope with finding out another person in your life has been replaced? Someone that you were close with for years, someone you had been friends with? Someone that you had trusted not too long ago, before they went off the rails and stalked you.

Tim was reeling, these questions running through his head like scared screaming deer. Standing in that doorway, watching Jon, what was actually Jon, brutalize his double, he realized that this was the third time in his life that The Stranger took something, someone from his life. He watched a friend, what had been a friend for years, break down.

And he hadn’t cared, a crisp angry part of himself didn't care at all. An even smaller part o himself did care. He knew something was up with Jon the past month or so, but he hadn’t though enough to look closer, hadn't wanted to look closer. Martin had literally tried to tip him off, and he hadn't listened, he had yelled at Martin for fuck sake!

The Real Jon was kneeling on the floor, crying and covered in blood, weak and pale and scared. Just like how Tim felt. The crowbar still clattered on the ground.

\--------

Basira was worried when she heard the noise, the slamming of metal to flesh and the yelling mixed with demented screaming. She had rushed in, as if to pry a creature away from one of the other archive staff, something that she had to do more often than was comforting.

She hadn’t expected to see Jon, murdering himself.

There was shock running through her, as she watched the scene. Her mind raced with thoughts of what the murderous doppelganger would do, how to take it down fastest. Until she realized that the one doing the crowbar murdering was the one that she had known. It was like getting slapped in the face when going to the fridge at night. Getting cold water splashed in your face.

The starved looking, pale monster that she saw was their Jon. The thing that they had been working and coinciding with was a fake. And they hadn’t noticed. She wanted to throw the blame away from herself because how could she have known? She didn't know him too well? She could have, if she truly knew him. The worst part was that she was beginning to like the new Jon, more than she had liked the man she had tried to arrest for murder.

Watching him break down made her realize how small he was. She had always known he was short, and scrawny. But she never realized just how small. Physically he was tiny, but it also felt like he had moved away to make space for others, to slink and watch from the sides.

The differences seemed obvious now.

\------

Melanie watched, slightly fascinated at the violence and slightly horrified that she hadn’t noticed. But. It wasn’t like she cared enough to get close to Jon. He was a jerk! A paranoid jerk who was becoming a monster and she had every right to dislike him and hate him. She couldn't feel anything but red hot anger to hide behind, nothing but worry and anger and more rage. Her blanket of blood protection.

\---------

The breakdown lasted a good hour. He shook and he cried, and let the black blood slowly start to dry and stain his clothes, the knees of his pants would never be the same. But he was probably going to throw out all of the clothes that reminded him of the past few months, maybe even burn them. He didn’t think that a charity shop would take black stained clothes honestly. The blood splatter pattern made them a little suspicious. So burning it was.

He realized that he could barely move by himself. The adrenaline gone, making room for exhaustion and just how much he had been unable to move for two months. Jon felt a little like a newborn fawn.

Martin. Martin helped him up and to the cot in the document storage that he realized had been there from day one. He grabbed Martin's sleeve, as he went to leave.

Jon flushed and realized it was probably stupid, a bad idea. But Martin looked at him with a concerned smile, and he had to actually say something. He had to ask.

“Did anyone notice?” oh. He sounded so small. So pathetic, his voice unused to doing anything but grumbling protests at the clown’s and screaming while the adrenaline of murder was like hot coals. His throat hurt.

Martin looked like he himself wanted to cry, but instead he offered a shaky smile, “I did.”

Well. The dismay must have shown on his face. But instead of saying anything that he thought he would be right to he nodded, “Uh. Thank you. I... I missed you.”

He wondered if he could get away with crying again, but he was too exhausted to do even that. He hadn’t gotten much sleep before but he was running on an hour of sleep a day while kidnapped and bound.

So he went to sleep. On the dingy little cot tucked away in a storage closet. He didn't even hear Martin saying he missed him as well, whispered softly to the safety of closed eyes and absent mind. 

\------

When he woke up he realized that he smelt something awful. He wondered if the Stranger had moved any of his stash of hidden away clothes and soap for when he had to stay at the archives. It better not have or he'll kill it again.

When he stood up he stumbled, thankfully not making too much noise, just a small tink as the button of his shirt collided with a filing cabinet. Looking out of the window on the little door, and found that no one was in his line of sight. Thank god for small mercies.

Maybe he could creep to the hiding spot of his things and take a shower without anyone noticing.

First he had to get to those places without falling and making a lot of noise.

He failed as soon as he stepped out of his little sanctuary. Carefully using the walls as a support he was about to get three feet and he practically flew when he tripped over a stack of files just laying in the floors.

He could cry just from sheer frustration. He could also cry from knocking everything in those piles out of place. Who left files on the floor! He wanted to kick the papers again and say fuck it to leave them on the floor and shred them.

He looked and saw two sets of eyes looking at him, Melanie and Basira. They blinked a few times after they noticed that he was staring back openly. Jon ducked his head and started putting the files back to where they had started, albeit just a little jumbled. When he did that he stood up, again using the wall for leverage.

Glaring at the stack of files like they had personally murdered his cat, he watched where he was stepping. He should have done that in the first place but his mind was on other things, like getting a shower and not smelling like dirt and cloying moisturizer.

Thankfully he does find the bag of his things and gets to the showers with no one noticing him.

\--------

Martin brought him tea, his favorite. For some reason that makes him want to collapse, the kindness striking him right in the heart. He is back in his office after a week and a half of Martin mothering him. Though, the mothering wasn’t the worst part of the experience. But now he can move freely with only little pain and discomfort and Elias had come down to tell him to get back to work.

So here he was, getting tea and reading a statement about the Not!Them and the Circus. He looked up and smiled just a little at Martin. A tiny quirk of the lips. Martin blinked and smiled back. There was relief hidden behind those eyes, and Jon pretended not to be curious. 

“Thank you Martin, uh, how is it going?”

“Oh!” He looked surprised to be asked. Or to be talked to by him in general, “it’s alright, Jon, how are you doing?”

Jon shrugged, not really knowing how to convey the emotion he felt. The words felt like thick honey in his mouth but without the sweetness, just thick choke. Hm, maybe the Buried had decided to take it's turn fucking the archivist over.

Martin left after looking him over and he wondered just how terrible he had been. Looking back he was a dick. Still frequently was actually… Maybe he could fix that, be better? Though he didn’t know if he could do that for any of the other archive staff. No one had noticed he wasn’t him.

Martin noticed. Martin was more perceptive than he had ever given him credit for, always able to tell when something tiny had changed. He should really have been a bit nicer to him.

His mind wandered from the recorder and the statement that he was mostly through with, to something that he had tried not to think about.

No one noticed it wasn’t him, it had even taken Martin a little bit of time to realize, imagine if Martin hadn't cared, hadn't been as perceptive. They noticed something was different, but they didn’t seem to care. They probably thought the new Jon was better. Was his replacement nicer? Less of a monster? Even if it was just a facsimile of him, of a person, was it more human than he was? Did they like it more?

No one cared much about him coming back. They cared about the mess that he left when murdering his double-- the Jon they probably all liked better. But he understood the care about the mess. There were still gross black stains in the floorboards, which reminded Jon every day that he had gone off his edge that day. The stain reminded him of every day he spent for three or so months with only demented company. The pins and needles in his limbs reminded him of being bound just as much, he had thought it would go away after a while, but the phantom pains still lingered, just like the feeling of hands on him.

He finished the statement, even while his mind was on other things. When the tape clicked off he startled a little and noticed the tea wasn’t steaming anymore.

He took a sip and held the lukewarm mug in his hands, still feeling cold.

\-----------

Nothing much had changed. He wasn’t trying to start an argument, he just needed a certain statement so that he could Know more about Nikola. He should have the right same as Tim to get that information. For god's sake he was just as lost and stupid as they were and yet the idea of handing him anything was unthinkable! 

He was frustrated, easily angered and probably as fragile as broken glass at the moment. That was always his fatal flaw, other than paranoia. The Stranger had taken him for two months and then some, he should not have to fight for a fucking file! He wasn't thinking of others, but they weren't thinking about him either, so win win. He needed to know more.

Somewhere in his heart he felt like Tim did deserve the files more than he did. That was also the part that had told him to just die because there would be less monsters in the world. That was the part that had grown as his stay at the circus dragged on, like a parasite.

“Tim please just give me a file that you’ve already read, I just want to-”

Tim glared a little holding the stack to his chest, “Give you a file so you can store it away like a dragon! We need these files!”

“I am just trying to help! Why do you have to-!” Jon groaned, and was cut off once more.

“Oh so I am the one at fault here? We all know that you just hoard these things away from the light of day!”

“That’s not what I meant Tim.”

“No, I know what you meant ‘Archivist!’ Keep away from the files.” Tim had all the Stranger Statements on the biggest table he could haul from the break room. Even the one that he had snatched away when Jon was finished reading it.

Jon wanted to scream, he wanted to scream and bang his fists against something, the need felt so childish. This was just so! Unfair! He felt childish but instead of shutting up like he really should, he glared.

“You can’t even let go of the ones you’ve already annotated and took notes from! Tim please this is-”

“Shut up! I think I liked the double better because he could learn to. back. off!” The room goes quiet. You could hear a pin drop.

The three onlookers watched with varying levels of horror as the words left Tim’s mouth. The man was so. So. Angry. He was standing by the files, holding some and a printed page on how to build explosives.

They waited for the outburst. Jon was an angry guy, he fought tooth and nail when he thought he was right, which was most of the time with the prideful bastard, even when it would get him in serious trouble. But no words cut through the tense quiet. No lashing out. Nothing.

Jon stood, storms passing through his eyes, face set in something stone like.

The file he was holding fluttered to the ground papers flowing across the floor, and Jon turned and left. The door slammed loud enough that it reminded everyone of a death knell.

\---------

The door to the archives was still reverberating with how it shut when Martin finally had the voice to rear back up on the angry man.

“What the hell Tim!" That was a low blow. You never heard anyone say anything about Sasha, and she was stolen from everyone. The other two spectators were watching as Martin slowly got more red. Today was not a day that he could keep himself in check to spare the feelings of other people.

Tim slammed the files down, as if that would end the conversation.

“Would you have said that to Sasha?!” Martin was not going to let this go. That might have also been a bit of a low blow to Tim, but Tim had just metaphorically stabbed Jon in the knees. The insecurity that held in Jon's eyes every day since he came back, Tim had grabbed at the chance.

Tim did not even look at him, his face held downwards, his shoulders tense, “That. is. Different.”

“No it’s not! You know it’s not Tim!” Martin was looking down at his coworker of years and seeing how much they had let the damage run. He felt guilty for letting Tim wallow, he wished he could have helped Tim out of his self-destructive mind state but right now they were dealing with both Tim and Jon. Why did he always end up fixing things? Why couldn't they just talk things out?

\------------

Jon had dropped off the face of the Earth. No one had heard from him, not Georgie nor anyone in archives. Even Elias seemed to be having trouble finding his wayward archivist. His eye not able to locate him wherever he had run off too.

The archives were tense once more. The feeling of something missing still permeating the air, a small Jon shaped void that had a hollow sad space within hostility in the air.

They still tried to find a way to stop the Unknowing. It was the only thing they could all do without there being another fight.

\-----

Jon was in America, stealing a page from a book, about to set Gerard Keay free after asking for some advice. 


	3. Jonathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disappearing is not a healthy coping mechanism
> 
> AKA: Catharsis

Elias slammed his hands on his desk. The eye was refusing to show him what the hell his Archivist was doing. He wasn’t dead, that Elias Knew. He had no clue what he was doing, where he was, or who he was messing with. He growled lowly. If he knew that the Stranger Double would cause this much trouble he would not have allowed it to happen! Though it wasn't like he could have stormed into the Circus to grab what was his. 

And the damnedest part was that the Stranger had not left its mark on him yet, just lingering memories and a newfound touch aversion, so of course he needed the archivist to go and get himself into more trouble with Nikola and the Circus. But no. He had no clue where the wretched little thing went.

\--------

As much as Elias knew, the archives staff knew the same, probably even less. A week went by.

Then another.

Martin was worried that he had gotten kidnapped again, but there was zero sign of him. No new statements about their Archivist. No new statements about a bound man in the circus. Oh! They had a statement about a woman seeing a bound man bound in aerial silks while she was being dazzled by the circus. The description had matched Jon to a T. And it had happened earlier, the first month or so that Jon went missing, the woman only came in last week.

The archives were still tense, Tim had not come around yet, still dead set on blaming Jon for being a monster. Martin had stopped making him tea after the second argument they had gotten into. Melanie was doing no different, mostly doing no work and just being there to piss off Elias. Basira was doing what she usually did, filing and going off doing things for their shit boss. Daisy off wherever she could be.

He wondered if Jon was alright. It was hard to not be a huge thing in his mind. He worried so much for the man. Was he eating? Was he safe? Had he been kidnapped again?

And all he could do was halfheartedly research statements.

\--------

Jon was hiding away in a motel, the shitty kind that really was a front for something or you used it for a drug deal. He was in America, there were plenty of those. He had burned Gerry’s page, and now he was forever away from those hunters. Hopefully they won't track him for a long, long time. Jon of course was a little sad that he had burned Gerry, he could easily see himself being friends with the goth. He was nice to Jon, and suddenly held place in his heart before Jon subsequently had to kill him a second time.

But he would not want to be left alive after death either, not painfully bound, so he followed through with the dead man’s wish.

He missed Martin. He missed the archives desperately, even Tim. Maybe he missed Tim more than one should for a person who wishes you stayed replaced by a fake. He couldn’t blame him.

Now he just had to find another way to feed the Eye. Live statements are a no, the nightmares too vivid for more of them. What could he do?

Well. He was hungry for human food at the moment, which was rare, so that train of thought could wait. What did he even have? Nothing good enough. No bread or any sandwich ingredients. This hotel was the worst. He could go and get take-out. He had a good bit saved, but he could also buy a microwavable meal and granola bars for cheaper…

Maybe he should buy a hat. Cover his very definable grey hairs, less likely the people would be able to recognize him that way. Sunglasses for the bright green eyes would be a good idea too, but he also did not want to look like a spy. Or a creep.

Why should he care though. He left to get away from the Institute, the Archives and the horror that awaited him there. He could leave them to deal with the Unknowing themselves if they truly thought of him as useless. A useless monster. Whose double they liked better.

Fuck! He slammed a fist down onto the worn old stained couch. Jon was trying not to think about it. He was trying to keep his mind from them.

Keep it under control Jon. Just get up and go get food. Act like a normal person, who does normal things and is not caught up in a web of supernatural design. Act like you have it together. Get off the couch that probably has bedbugs, go to the store, buy food. Bring said food to the room he was staying in for the next two nights. And be completely sure you don’t think about how soon the Unknowing would be starting. Don't think about how your friends might die. Don’t think of them as friends.

He got off the couch and felt lightheaded. He really needed to fix the anemia problem. He still felt sore in all his bones, something just a ghost of what could have happened. He often wondered how his limbs hadn't died and fallen off. 

Onto his feet! He is up! Grab the key card. Jon grabbed the white plastic thing, and slipped it into his wallet. Ok. he’s got half of the start!

He should get Elias to pay for his therapy, institute funded mental health leave. First he had to get a therapist that would believe his crazy stories and also want to help him, and not send him straight to the ward. But also getting a therapist was not a fun way to spend your days. Especially when they could be very much numbered. He had very little time until that clown started their ritual and he wasn’t there to stop it --to watch.

He wondered if the archives had a plan, or if they were just as stumped as he was. Gerard told him about the explosives. He could always send them a note…

A note or letter would take too long to get there though. Maybe he could…

God he hated the idea. He would have to text one of the assistants. It was either that or going back and well… He really did not want to know how they would react to him after he ditched off for weeks.

He sighed and closed the door behind him. Think about his failures after getting food. Did he even need food anymore?

\----------

So. He had a decision to make… Go back. Text Martin. Go back… Text Martin… This was just two evils! He missed Martin. He missed Martin more than he thought he would. Of course he missed the tea and all. But he also just missed Martin. Could he call Martin his friend? Did the other even want to be friends after everything that’s happened.

Why does he want something that wasn’t friendship…

Jon shook his head and paused over the send button. The text was short.

“Key in Red Book. Boiler room has Explosives to stop the Unknowing.” The number would not come up as his own, as using a burner phone was the best move he could make at the moment. He still did not want to come back, maybe running away wasn't healthy, but no one said that Jon was the picture of smart coping mechanisms.

Would he ever go back? Maybe. Maybe not. He had to know how the Unknown goes though… He needed to Know.

“Who is this?” Was the reply, which Jon’s hand twitched to respond. He really wanted to reply. But he couldn’t tell him it was him. They might come looking for him. Or they wouldn’t. That was the worse option actually. For them to know he is alive and that they might be able to find him and not care at all. Whatever. He really needed to get a grip.

“A friend.” he responded and shut off the burner phone, tempted to throw it against the wall. But there were other people at the motel. Best not to disturb them, even if he couldn’t sleep. Also breaking a phone was bad for budgeting.

When had he become considerate? Was it the traumatic Kidnapping and Clowns? Or was it the week in which he realized how terrible he had been. Had he truly been so bad that they all wished he was dead? Replaced? Finding out he needed people to trust much too late, after he drove almost everyone away and they died.

He needed to stop thinking about it! He needed to stop thinking about it because he might just spiral and that is the last thing that he should do. He just needed to stay up, and try not to give people nightmares.

The best thing about being on the run from his own issues is that he gets to sleep during the day, instead of at night. So he is avoiding being in any vivid nightmares. So all times he woke up crying it was just typical trauma responses.

\---------

Martin stared. “A friend.” He did not trust that at all. Not a single bit of that was good and trustworthy! Was he going to take advice from a stranger? No!

Still he found himself walking to the reddest book in the Archives and opening it to find a single key, and following that line he walked over to the boiler room, and low and behold. Explosives.

\-------

The Unknowing was going to happen that day. And Jon was still on a plane back to London. If the last thing goes to hell, he can at least say that he tried to come and help. But he did not want to be anywhere near the circus. He wanted to stay as far away from the clown Ringmaster as possible, the lasting fear of replacement fresh on his mind.

It was always fresh on his mind!

Would it always be fresh on his mind? Like a bruise that he poked at enough to keep it from healing, ugly purple and yellow glaring back at him.

But he also couldn’t take away from the lure of wanting that struck through him. That thirst, the need to Know.

He wasn’t the best at telling himself no even now.

\-------

Martin was burning statements, the door still locked as he watched another go up into flames, the zippo making fast work of the decrepit papers. Elias yelled and finally his boss was in the room, and he grinned just a little, vindicated for the hell that the man had put him through. The burning waste bin had plenty of statements, the anglerfish, Jane Prentiss's, on about a man eating a computer. As the pile grew, the more frantic Elias had become.

Elias stood, looking angry but still smug. “Oh Martin. You should know better, acting out like this. Such devotion to someone who left and treats you so poorly. It seems that everyone that you love leaves you in the end.”

“Hah. You’ll have to try harder than that to hurt me Elias. I already know my feelings are unrequited.” He flicked the lighter as if to menace the man, lighting a curling edge of a paper. Elias grimaced, and he smiled throwing the paper to the inferno that was Martin's pile of statements. The suggestion box, he had called it, and he rather liked the name..

“Well. I’ll just have to go with what I had planned then. It might have been better to show you.” And the tape recorder turns off, as Martin is reliving how his mother feels about him.

\-------

Jon sees the door to his office open and the smell of burning pages hits him. He sped to the door and saw Elias grinning. Martin was crying, pages and ashes scattered around him. He was about to yell something before going to Martin’s side, a sudden need to be there for him instead of angry about the statements. It was a smart idea he thinks, Martin coming up with it on his own.

He carefully placed his hand on Martin’s arm. Ever so carefully, as if to not shatter him like fine glass. Careful as Martin had been, even before everything supernaturally fucked them over.

“Oh Jon! We were just talking about you. Not another double right?”

Jon’s free hand clenched, “You would know wouldn't you Elias. Shut. up.”

He was shaking. Instead of shutting up Elias just smiled wider, as if he had gotten exactly what he wanted , “Poor Archivist and Martin! Replaced and unloved.” It was like he was pressing a bruise, not because it had any use, but because he liked to see the reaction, and to know that he was in charge.

Something in the moment snapped. It was Jon's tentative hold on his anger. Rage coursing through his veins that he hadn't even time to think about the consequences of his actions as he had already grabbed the thing next to him.

A chair. A metal folding chair that Jon held by the legs and swung. The connection of metal to ribs was horrifying. And familiar. Human ribs are different from plastic ribs, he thinks with a terrified mania. They made a louder crunch, some part of him was happy to drink this knowledge in, to feel it firsthand. Maybe he was going crazy, he thought through the haze of redredredanger. Maybe the influence of the Slaughter had jumped from Melanie to him, or maybe he really was evil.

A second swing aimed right for the bastard’s head. Jon felt like he was reliving the day he escaped and killed himself, his double at the least.

Maybe he should be worried about the consequences of his actions. Maybe he should worry about liking killing Elias so much. But also, the man was a manipulative piece of shit who deserved death by chair, so. He was doing this now. And now that he knew he could truly kill another thing, well. There was nothing to hold him back anyway.

They already saw him as a monster. Might as well take someone down with him, especially one that hurt his assistants.

Elias’s skull cracked open, he heard it. The man fell to the floor clutching his head, and Jon kept swinging. It felt like he was seeing double, the way Elias crumpled much like the Stranger’s puppet of him. He continued to swing, seeing both the reason everyone was trapped, and the thing that showed him what people truly thought.

He only stopped once Martin put a hand on his shoulder.

Jon dropped the metal chair, and turned, “Martin. Are you alright?”

What a stupid question. “No. Not really.”

Jon opened his arms, and Martin leaned down into them. Both of them were crying, they think. Jon want's nothing more than to be there for Martin, and he quietly helps the other man through his own sobs. Martin was alive, and Jon would try and make him happy.

\-------

Melanie walked into the room and saw the scene. Elias dead on the floor, and Jon and Martin clinging to each other.

“I got the evidence to send Elias to jail. But it seems you took care of the problem… Seems the fucker lied to us about being the heart of this stupid place.”

Jon looked up, his startling glowing green eyes looking tired.

“I guess I should get ready to go to jail or be on the run again…” He seemed resigned. Martin looked at the two, still shaken by the intimate knowledge of knowing his mother hated him. How much she hated him, why she hated him.

Melanie looked him over but just dropped the papers she held, they began to soak through with blood on the floor, “I’ll help hide the body in the tunnels.”

Jon blinked, but nodded, “I’ll clean up the room. Martin, lets go get you to the showers ok?” He was still smeared and splattered with blood. Both from being near the brutality and from practically trying to fuse to Jon.

He smiled at the shorter man, the thought was sweet and If he wasn't so sure this was Jon he would think it was another double. He wasn’t used to getting treated kindly, much less by Jon.

As they tracked blood through the archives Jon asks about Tim and Basira.

“They are blowing up the circus.”

“Ah.”

Martin blinked, “Did, did you send that text?”

Jon nodded, biting his lip, waiting for maybe a scolding.

“Well. Thank you.”

Jon blinked a few times and smiled slightly, just a quirk of his lips. He left Martin to grab clothes and shower in the institute bathroom. He stared just a few more seconds, lingering slightly at the hallway, feeling something squirm in his chest.

He ignored the feeling, as he had a murder to cover up. Jon walked into the office, seeing Melanie kicking Elias’s body, saying something along the lines of, “Fuck you, you old manipulative bastard.”

“Uh. Could you…. Do that after moving the body to the tunnels?”

Melanie leveled him with a glare and he decided just to go get a cleaners rag and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide for the floorboards. Another stain in the floor would make them all look suspicious.

\---------

Basira lived, keeping her head well enough to get the fuck out of the circus when Tim started blowing the place up. Tim was in the hospital, critically injured but thankfully alive. Daisy was missing, presumably dead. Jon felt like crying from relief. Melanie, Martin, and Jon all decided to keep the brutal chair murder under wraps, though Melanie had made copies of the record of Elias saying he was the killer of Jurgen and Gertrude. Martin submitted those to the police anonymously, no use keeping Jon on a list of suspects.

Jon and Martin were… Something.

They had gotten closer, once Peter Lukas took over the Institute in Elias’s mysterious absence. They cried together quite a few times, shared the same looks of hidden knowledge. They occasionally brushed fingers like juveniles. 

Jon very much wanted to hold Martin’s hand. It was overwhelming how much he wanted to hold the other man’s hand.

Martin, unknown to Jon, had the same feeling. Maybe even couple it with years worth of crushing and the sudden affectionate way Jon had taken to acting around him. Yeah… It was a lot for Martin to keep his admittedly big hands from brushing the stray hair away from Jon’s face, or to stop himself from fixing his glasses before the other had the chance to.

Jon also felt guilty. Because he had endangered their lives in his fit of rage and probable psychotic break, when he killed their boss. But somehow none of them died, like Elias said they would. He was thankful for that, he didn’t know what he would do with himself if he endangered his-- coworkers. Not really friends anymore. He had to stop thinking about that. They were past this.

\--------

Jon woke up after falling asleep at his desk with a gasp. He looked around, hands shaking as he yelled from the shock of awakening. Sweat was making his skin sticky and his eyes were flickering from side to side.

Another nightmare. It wasn’t anyone else's this time, no statement givers watching him in terror or anger. Just his. As he saw his own face walk out of a circus tent flap. He didn’t know how he did, but in the dream he watched as everyone talked easily to his fake. He Knew they hadn’t been friendly to his double. But watching in the dream felt like it was real, like this was how it should have been.

He wondered if he would ever un-burn that bridge with Tim. It was unlikely but, one couldn’t help but be wistful of the times they had as friends in research.

The door opened, and Martin poked his head in, “Jon? Are you ok?”

Jon blinked in surprise, he must have woken the other up. He still hadn’t gone back to his flat. “Oh. Yes. Uh. Just a nightmare.”

Martin carefully made his way into the room, leaning slightly against his desk, “Would.. Would you like to talk about it?”

He sounded so timid and hopeful that Jon let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “Just another Doppelganger dream. Nothing new. I am sorry for waking you up.”

“It’s alright, I wasn't really sleeping well either.”

“Want to talk about it?” Jon reflected back, giving a small smile, and Martin let out a huff of a laugh.

“Worms actually.”

Jon hummed, “Throwback.”

“Yeah. It really is.” Martin laughed, as if he made a joke, and maybe that was what it was. 

The room stayed quiet, as neither of them had much else to say. It was a nice quiet though. There was some underlying tension, but that was probably from Jon trying to catch unnoticed glances at Martin, and when he turned away embarrassed, Martin would catch a few glances of his own.

Finally Martin reached out, putting his hand over Jon’s. Jon startled but then looked up and caught the other man’s eyes. It was awkward, no swells of music.

But it was nice… It was peaceful.

It felt right, better than anything else.


	4. Jon's Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue. Literally just a happy ending really.

When the archive staff knew they could quit, they did. Melanie threw her resignation papers at Peter Lukas-- the acting head of the institute while Elias Bouchard was ‘missing’-- with a joyful whoop. They flew everywhere, landing in clutters on the floor of swear words and ink. She flipped off the place as she walked to where Georgie Barker’s car was waiting, Jon tried not to think about their last texts. She practically pranced out of the place with the happiest look on her face than anyone had seen since she had a YouTube channel to run.

Basira had quit, to go look for Daisy. She calmly handed in her resignation letter, more polite than they thought she should be honestly. Dressed in her Sunday best she marched through the lobby of the Magnus Institute and handed in her letter with a 'Good Day'. She was still flying from the high of knowing Elias/Jonah was rotting in the tunnels and no one else but the Archives staff knew. No need to be rude when the issue was dead, she was practical like that.

Martin, he hadn't quit. He could now, but here he could help people. He could stay with Jon, though that wasn't the only reason he stayed. His life could be more now, more than Jon, more than this place. It would be he knew, but he liked to have the spooky job security.

Jon couldn't quit, because he had to feed the Eye, and he could do less harm while working there. So in the Archives he stayed, reading and fixing his filing system to look nice. He went to the doctors though, after being badgered into an appointment when he still had trouble with his limbs. He had permanent nerve damage, and some days he could barely walk without feeling weak with pins and needles. He got a cane, and orders that on bad days to not overwork himself.

Tim. Tim had woken up three months later, after everyone but Jon and Martin left the archive’s. The funny thing was that they had taken to visiting him. Martin brought cards and Jon bought him the ugliest teddy bear because he remembered that Tim loved ugly stuffed animals. It made him laugh so hard that it shifted into almost crying when he bought it.

He woke up when both were watching over him, why they had taken to watching him so often was probably a mixture of guilt from Jon, since he had been the one who gave them the explosives that caused his coma, and the genuine care of both of them. It would be horrible if he didn't wake up, though that might have been what Tim wanted.

“What happened? Is the circus gone?” he had woken up and those were the first words that he had said.

“You blew up the circus Tim. They found you in the rubble. Thankfully you lived.” Martin was smiling softly, he sat right next to their coworker while Jon stood to the side. The sentiment stayed in the air for a few silent seconds, only the beeping of machines keeping it from being truly noiseless. Jon shifted nervously, and Tim tried not to stare.

Tim looked them both over, “how long have I been…?”

“Three months or so.”

It was quiet again until Jon finally spoke up, “You can quit now. Elias has… Gone missing. We don't need to talk about work but. I didn't want you to go without knowing.” he fiddled with his hands, and his cane. Neither him nor Martin knew how Tim would react to anything that has happened while he was under, but Jon didn’t want to leave him with the impression that he had to go back to work after this. Though the payment he got from the Institute kept his life machine on while he was under.

The man raised a brow. He looked like he wanted to ask something.

“He’s dead.” Martin supplied. No need to beat around the bush, even though Jon looked shocked at the outright admittance.

The rest of the admittedly short talk was mostly between Tim and Martin, with Jon just deciding to stay out of it. He wouldn’t insert him into places he didn’t need to be. Places he wasn't wanted. Though he did wonder how a coma felt. He was still just curious.

The Doctors had come in while the two talked, and Martin and Jon took this as the sign to leave for the day.

Jon walked carefully with his cane, still not used to using it, but his other hand was holding Martin’s.

\--------

Tim walked into the archive’s a few weeks later. He had an envelope in one hand, which they both took to be his resignation. It was, but before he went to the head office he sat in the break room as Martin made tea. It smelled like honey and flowers in the archives that day, strangely.

“So. What exactly happened to Elias?”

Martin jumped a little, startled at the noise, there was very little of it down there with only the two of the staff. They had yet to have anyone else move down there, but they didn’t complain. Having others down there would feel wrong somehow, like a betrayal.

“Well, officially he’s missing. Off the record, his body is in the tunnels.” Martin had heard the kettle whistle and he went to pour the water into two mugs. He gave a look to Tim as if to ask if he wanted any and Tim shook his head emphatically. He wouldn't be staying long.

“Marto that's not what I meant.” He didn’t say it in a mean way, but Martin sighed nonetheless.

“Jon killed him. With a metal chair.” Martin sat the kettle on a burner that wasn't hot, and started the fixings for tea. He looked fidgety.

Tim hummed, but then gave a hesitant gossipy smile, “So. You and Jon? And here I thought you had sense.”

It was almost like the old times. It wasn’t accusatory, just office drama like they would with Sasha in the bullpen. Tim leaning ever so slightly, as if to tease him for his crush. He looked healthier than he had in months. Though now he had some very distinct burn scars. Oh Tim would love to show those off, the other thought fondly. Martin hoped they would stay in touch once he had resigned but he might want to get away from all of this. Martin wouldn't blame him, he got what he wanted when he joined this place, and now he was free.

“Yes. Me and Jon. He told us about the explosives and came back and beat Elias to death with a chair. Now we are here.”

Tim blinked. Then he stood up, his face a little bit softer, “Good on you. If he says anything terrible to you I’ll still punt him. Spooky goggle or not.”

Martin laughs, a genuine thing that seemed to tear out of him, “I know you will Tim.”

"You not leaving?" Tim asked after a second, a glance around at the barren and empty place, the soft sound of a tape recorder clicking in the distance. 

Martin sighed, "No, I don't think I will."

“Ah. Well good luck here then, you'll need it working alone with your scary boyfriend." A silence stretches for a second, and Martin looks up from his mugs of tea, at Tim, who is rearing up to say something else. "And... Tell him thanks for the explosives. I don't know if I forgive him, don't know if I can forgive myself, but. I had the chance for revenge, and that the best thing he could have done for me. So thanks.” he brushed off imaginary dust from his clothes after his melancholy speech and gave a smile, “I am off to find a better job!”

“Good Luck!”

Tim yells back as he walks to the entrance of the archives, a final wave given, “Hey. Anything better than working for Elias in these dusty stacks. Also, no clowns!”

And that makes two. He wonders if they will be the only ones there. He could leave at any time but, he felt like he should stay. He could help people who came in to give statements, with his new knowledge. He could keep an eye on Jon, one because he just enjoyed being there for the man now that there was mutual feelings, and because he wanted to make sure he didn't spiral or get replaced again. If he left no one would hold it against him, but still he stayed.

Well. He had all the time in the world, and now, he had the option, in case he so chose to leave.

\--------

Jon cracked his back, his feet felt a bit like pins and needles so it was time to call it a day. There had been a few Stranger statements in the pile and they had taken something out of him. Though maybe it was just emotionally draining to hear about the now dead clowns. He never thought he would see the day that he took care of himself enough to know when he should go home but that was practically beaten into him by Martin’s constant mothering. The mothering was nice though. Martin had the day off that day, leaving him alone to sit on his desk and read.

They were still looking for Elias, though it had been months. Though they were not searching very hard, considering the man was a murderer, and well... If they were looking hard they would have checked the tunnels the first week. he didn't feel the need to point any direction to the body though. The abysmal diligence was in his favor so he looked it over.

Jon wandered into the lobby of the Magnus Institute, his cane making quiet clicking noises as he walked, texting Martin that he would be home soon. That was also new. Moving in with Martin. Though it was a nice new, with potted plants around and terrible poetry books scattered on tables. They also got a cat, Tardigrade, and he was still excited to go see her as much as he was to see his partner.

They, by they, Jon meant the head of Institute, were looking into getting more archival assistants, which Jon had mixed feelings about. Having more people working for him would be tough, because one he was not the easiest to work with. Even now when he had learned his lessons and was worlds ahead of the first few years he worked there. Second though, was that no one in their right mind would want Archive work. Especially with how dark and dusty it was down there. Honestly they needed to hire cleaners. The idea of bringing others into this made him shudder. 

Though they could deal with that another time. Martin could help him pick out from the candidates when it happened, if it happened. Either way he had a lovely boyfriend and cuddles waiting for him at home, as he locked up the archives.

So, it was when he was on the tube on his way back to his shared apartment and the cat they adopted, that he finally felt safe. Felt like he had a home, and that home was with Martin.

He was safe for the first time in years.


End file.
